


Song to a Seagull

by indevan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Beaches, Boardwalks, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: Dimitri and Ashe fatefully meet one summer, first on the boardwalk and then over a spilled Slushie and a mutual attraction. Together, the two of them try to overcome their hangups--Dimitri struggles with accepting and moving past the death of his father; Ashe believes fiercely in true love but is unsure as to whether or not he deserves it--to achieve some kind of happiness. Others in their immediate group of friends also struggle with life changes and coming to terms with their own relationships and issues with the backdrop of the beach at summertime
Relationships: Balthazar von Adalbrecht | Balthus von Albrecht/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	Song to a Seagull

**Author's Note:**

> the first part for my aubb is here! i want to thank all the mods for this event for putting together such an organized and fun event and also a huge huge thank you to [my artist, jessie](https://twitter.com/Zaheelee) for being an incredible joy to collaborate with

When he was a child, Dimitri loved sunsets. There was something magical about them. The way the sun sank lower and lower below the ocean, turning the sand almost purple. The riot of colors: reds, oranges, yellows.

He used to love fireworks, too. The pretty ones that bloomed like fire flowers in the sky. Standing on the beach, watching them shot off from a boat somewhere in the distance. The salt drying in swirling patterns on his skin and the night air, cool even in the summer, making him shiver.

Dimitri lives here year round, but the beach becomes something magical in the summer. He didn’t mind the heat or the crowds of tourists the way his friends did. Everything comes alive in the summer. More restaurants, more shops on the boardwalk, more everything. Being under the docks and screaming as the tide comes in. Swinging around the thick supports for the boardwalk above them and playing games.

It seems dumb now.

Now when Dimitri sits in his kitchen staring at a fly that’s buzzing around his fast food french fries. He had craved the fries earlier: the perfect mix of crunchy and soggy, the cheerful red container with the yellow and white stripes inside, dotted with grease. But the two he ate tasted like nothing, so now he’s left trying to will himself to eat the rest.

_ Shoo fly...get away from Dimitri’s fries… _

It nearly rhymes. He didn’t mean it to. He isn’t sure why he got fries, craving aside. He usually only gets spicy food, something strong enough that it blasts his sinuses and he can pretend he tastes it. He didn’t used to be this way. He used to hate spicy food. Felix always got the spiciest chips, always staining his fingers bright red as he ate them. Dimitri’s tongue would tingle just from the scent.

The kitchen is small, too small. There’s sand on the linoleum and Dimitri can feel it through his socks. It’s cramped in here, with him and the fly. It’s flying slowly, its gray-black body visible in how it loops around.

_ It must be close to death. _

The short lifespan of a housefly. How does that compare to the lifespan of Dimitri’s father? There’s pictures of him all over, still. Different points in Dimitri’s life. Him as a baby on the beach in an infuriatingly embarrassing sun hat. Felix is with him and there’s a mound of sand between them with a plastic spoon sticking out of it. His father is holding him in another picture, grinning bright and wide. He’s the same age there as Dimitri is now. He had been smiling like that before he died. He had said to Dimitri that he would be right back. Someone out there was drowning and he had to go save them. Someone shouting far out behind the jetty of rocks. Dimitri had been worried. The beach didn’t have a lifeguard, even in the summer. Signs about swimming at your own risk were everywhere. His father told him to sit tight and he’d go out there. So noble, his father. Always a hero.

Dimitri blinks and waves his hand in the air. Somehow it connects with the fly and it spirals down to the floor. At the last second, it seems to catch itself and lazily flies back up to the ceiling. Not dead yet.

His father didn’t die in the ocean. He died in the hospital, his lungs full of water, because the man he tried to save panicked and held him down too long. They both died. Dimitri remembers standing on the wet, packed sand, shoulders and cheeks already reddening with sunburn as his father was carried into the ambulance that was driven onto the beach.

He blinks again. He needs to get out of here.

He doesn’t go to the beach anymore, but the boardwalk is still safe. It’s self-contained, the ocean a faraway backdrop and nothing more. He can pretend it’s a picture like on the glossy postcards on a revolving rack.

Dimitri walks to the door where his sneakers wait for him: blue suede, brown soles, worn but not needing to be replaced.

He has his wallet and his keys. Outside, it’s still the afternoon. It’s early enough that June Gloom is a thing and Dimitri is grateful for the thick, woven sweater he wears with his shorts. He wonders if he’ll see anyone he knows. Sylvain typically gets a job at one of those stores that prints t-shirts for tourists. He spends his shifts flirting with girls and sweet talking them into spending too much on a tie-dyed shirt that says “Greetings from Faerghus Court Beach!” He and Felix used to get summer jobs on one of the rides. Dimitri’s favorite was the Music Express even if he got tired of the fact that it only played “Amadeus” over and over. Felix was always at the scrambler. He hasn’t seen either of them in what feels like ages. Ingrid, either, but she never worked on the boardwalk. She had a more permanent residence at one of the surf shops, even though everyone knows that surfing in Faerghus mostly sucks. Dimitri wanted to learn, once, but not anymore. He has images of himself with his head smashed open on the rocks, one eye a bloodied, empty socket. Seagulls peck at his brains.

He sees it sometimes and he isn’t sure if it’s really him or he’s picturing his father, still in the sea. Even though he saw his body as it was loaded into the ambulance. Was his father still alive then or was he already dead? He can’t remember.

He and his father always lived close to the beach. Close enough to walk or ride his bike. Felix used to ride his over and they’d go together, Dimitri balancing on the wheel, barely straddling the seat because it was easier to lock up one bike than two. They used to do those things all the time. They thought they were immortal, which is probably how you’re supposed to feel when you’re young. Before the bodies begin to pile up. Not just his father. Felix’s brother Glenn, even if no one likes to talk about it. Other people he’s less familiar with: names he recognizes from school, but he couldn’t match them to faces unless he was looking at the yearbook.

Dimitri has always liked the boardwalk. Everything is jumbled and overwhelming but in a way that reminds him of how the inside of his brain feels. It’s comfort in chaos, or something. The swirling lights, the cacophony of music, the smell of fried food and pizza. The boardwalk has always felt more like home to him, more now that he doesn’t like going on the beach anymore. He can stand on the sand, sometimes, go to bonfires or clam bakes for a short while, but he can’t go in the sea. When everyone is drunk on the night and on cheap beer enough to strip down and throw themselves into the surf, Dimitri stays on a towel or a divot in the sand, watching them bob in the water. Wanting to make sure they all come back.

The beach isn’t terribly crowded, but it’s still early in the season. There’s far more cars than there were last week, though, and he knows that the number will only grow. He isn’t really looking forward to it.

Already there are too many people on the boardwalk. Despite his height, people nearly weave into him as parents try to wrangle children and people close to his age on break from university veer wildly on the planks. Dimitri doesn’t have a destination in mind, but he figures that he ought to say hello to Sylvain. Felix, too.

He can smell french fries and malt vinegar in the air. Dimitri thinks about his sad pile of fast food french fries at home. The sting of vinegar is enough to usually rouse his sluggish taste buds. The sounds of the midway should be disorienting but they’re a familiar comfort to him. Dimitri knows that summer is coming. The tinny, canned music is a herald of the season.

The T-shirt shop isn’t particularly busy, but tourists are only slowly trickling in. No local wants one of these bogus shirts, after all. Like the boardwalk itself, in a week or so the store will be packed with people wanting to take home a tangible reminder of their visit to the shore. Dimitri has a few shirts, but they’re gifts from Sylvain that he makes at work when he’s bored.

Sylvain is behind the counter, looking exactly how he pictured him. He’s leaning against the glass and flirting with a girl wearing a shirt from a college up north. She’s giggling while he rings up the t-shirt she absolutely did not need, flirting just as hard back.

“It’ll look great on you,” he says while he puts the receipt in the bag.

“Maybe I’ll show you later,” she says back.

Sylvain gives a wink and hands her the bag.

“Bet on it. I’ll be here.”

The girl leaves with more than a slight blush on her cheeks and Dimitri shakes his head. Same old Sylvain. As infuriating as it is comforting. He spots him and gives a slight wave. Dimitri returns it and makes his way to the counter.

“Are you working Music Express this summer?” Sylvain asks, bypassing any sort of formal greeting.

That’s to be expected. When you’ve known someone nearly your entire life, you don’t really need to mess around with phrases like “Hello.” Dimitri shakes his head.

“I missed the summer hiring window.”

Sylvain nods. “I nearly did, too, but Alois called me.”

He laughs, shaking out his hair as he does. Sylvain’s hair is a riot of cowlicks, but the color is such a striking red-orange that everyone notices that rather than the mess. He tells everyone that he keeps a photo of himself as a kid in his wallet to prove to people that it’s natural. All things considered, Dimitri thinks that’s better than the alternative way of showing proof.

“Is Felix at the Scrambler?”

Even when all four of them aren’t in constant contact, Sylvain and Felix are good at keeping up with each other’s lives. Felix, who was Dimitri’s best friend all through childhood and teenagerdom, is closer to Sylvain these days. He even spends most nights at the bungalow Sylvain rents a block from the boardwalk when he doesn’t want to deal with things at home. The emptiness with Glenn gone.

“Nope. He got a job at the comic shop.”

“Oh, he must love that.”

Comic books always seemed like something impossible to get into for Dimitri, so he never bothered. This has always been a constant frustration for Felix who is obsessed with them, particularly the X-MEN.

“Yeah. He’s pretty stoked.”

Sylvain’s shoulders are slightly drooped and Dimitri feels his brows draw in.

“Are you alright?”

He jerks his head up too quickly like someone who’s been caught.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem...off.”

There’s a flash of...something in Sylvain’s eyes before he recovers and laughs again. He pushes a hand through his hair.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just tired. Not used to opening yet.”

As far as lies goes, that one is pretty pathetic, but Dimitri lets it slide. Whatever it is, he won’t get it from him now. Dimitri figures that it has something to do with his brother. Sylvain isn’t on good terms with his parents either, but his brother was his constant tormentor growing up until Miklan just up and left. He still lives in town, though. Dimitri sees him sometimes in the outdoor seating areas of bars, drinking and laughing like a hyena with a group of people he presumes are his friends.

“Alright,” he says.

Sylvain leans his elbows on the counter, lacing his fingers together.

“I get off at four,” he says. “Come round and we’ll go get something to eat. I’m dying for a slice, but it’s, like, day two of work and I can’t piss Alois off by going off during my shift to get food. Yet.”

Dimitri nods. “Sure.”

“Cool. I think Felix is off around then, too. If not we’ll hang around the shop and harass him by saying...shit. What was it that you said that really pissed him off that one time?”

He thinks back, trying to think of what it was that made Felix strike with his sharp, venomous tongue.

“I think it was about Cyclops.”

Sylvain laughs and this time it sounds more genuine. Something in Dimitri’s chest unclenches.

“Right. And Fee was like ‘he doesn’t have one eye, asshole!’” He laughs again even as Dimitri cringes at the memory.

Whatever is bothering Sylvain isn’t something that he’s going to get out of him now so instead he just gives a wave and promises to be back at the shop at four.

\--

Dimitri has a few hours to kill and no desire to walk home only to have to walk back to meet up with Sylvain. Instead he walks up and down the boardwalk, feeling much like he did as a kid. The moment they were old enough to be allowed out without parents, they took to the boardwalk, the arcades, the beach. Glenn was a watchful eye, but he was cool and not bossy (except when he wanted to mess with Felix). Glenn…nearly two years since he’s been gone. He wonders if Felix still sees him the way that Dimitri sees his father every time he goes too close to the shore, but he hasn’t asked him. It’s too personal. He just knows that Felix was in the hospital with him when he slipped away and that he doesn’t talk about it.

The cacophony of game sounds drags Dimitri away from his dark thoughts. The midway spills out before him, less magical in the daytime, but still the whirling, swirling mass of sounds. Dimitri has never considered beach or boardwalk sounds to be overwhelming. Sometimes, back when he could, he would lie out on the beach and let the sounds wash over him: people talking, music being played, the crash of waves, the caws of seagulls. Warm and impersonal like the sun. He misses when he could stay on the sand for hours, intermittently dunking himself into the water to rev up his immune system--as Glenn always said.

He lets the sounds wash over him now: people calling others over, the tinny music like fifteen carnivals at once all on top of one another. Dimitri breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. When he opens his eyes, he sees that he’s locked in the gaze of a worker at one of the games. He curses himself. The unspoken rule of the boardwalk. Avoid the eyeline of the desperate barkers for midway games. Now he’s compelled to walk over and fork over a dollar or more for some undoubtedly rigged game. Dimitri pats the wad of loose singles in his pocket. If he only plays one game, he’ll have enough for a slice later and maybe a lemonade in the meantime.

Dimitri makes his way over, shoulders clenched near his ears. The guy working it looks relieved.

“You didn’t have to come over,” he says, voice a bit sheepish. “There’s no one else anyway.”

Now that he’s close enough, he can smell the chlorine and realizes that this is one of the water gun games. Sure enough, Dimitri takes in the small stools bolted down in front of the mounted, two-handed water guns. Sylvain is a whiz at this one. He claims it’s all about timing since everyone presses the buttons on the guns at the same time, the key is to aim your nozzle at the target immediately to get an edge.

“It’s fine,” Dimitri says. “I can, uh, wait.”

He doesn’t know why he says it except that this guy doesn’t seem too pushy. Some of the workers get bad, like the guy who inevitably works the basketball game without fail every summer. Once he simply tossed the basketball to Ingrid to get her to play. She had responded by flinging it back at him, hard.

He smiles, relieved. Dimitri takes him in. He hasn’t seen him before. Usually he recognizes most of the barkers (who vary from teenagers and college kids to old men who have been working midways since the Stone Age). He seems to be around his age with messy grayish hair worn long and brushed behind his ears. He’s paler than even Dimitri is, the skin over his nose nearly translucent with how pale it is, which makes the freckles sprinkled there stand out even more. Like everyone else working the midway, he’s wearing a blue t-shirt that reads “Lion’s Den Games” with a goofy grinning cartoon lion. Dimitri always worked the rides and avoided such a fate.

Dimitri sits down on the vinyl and chrome stool, twisting his body side to side to test the swivel. The guy gives a slight laugh at it. Eventually a couple walking hand in hand wearing shirts so new that they still have fold creases in them comes up and sits by Dimitri. The guy collects a dollar from each of them and explains the rules. He steps to the side to avoid the spray and flips a switch. Dimitri hears Sylvain’s voice in his ear and angles the squirt gun right before it engages. He presses his thumbs down on the red buttons and a narrow, hard stream of water bursts towards the small target. Immediately, the little stuffed animal attached to the columns extending from the top of the entire apparatus begins to rise. Dimitri knows he’s won before the alarm rings.

The couple walks off, not at all bothered, and Dimitri rises, ready to do the same.

“Wait,” the guy says. “Your prize.”

Right. He never wins when the four of them play. Felix and Ingrid are too competitive and Sylvain is effortlessly good at even the most crooked carnival game. He’s hopeless at them. Too strong for his own good--like a puppy, his stepmother always said. Once Dimitri broke a Whack-a-Mole machine by accident and they had to run off before anyone noticed.

“Uh. Right.”

He smiles brightly and says, “There were three of you so that’s a small prize.”

Dimitri tilts his head back to look at the prizes. Cheap, sad-looking stuffed animals are suspended from the ceiling of the booth and tethered to the walls. There seems to be small, medium, and large prizes. The largest ones are kept high up and bound to the wall in a way that makes Dimitri think of King Kong.

“You pick,” he says.

The guy’s smile brightens further, which should be too much but it somehow isn’t.

“Sure.”

He leans over and unhooks a plush rabbit from the wall. Its nose is sewn on at a weird angle and one of the eyes is already coming unglued, but there’s something becoming about it.

“This one is my favorite. I named him Carrots.”

He passes it over and Dimitri looks down at the rabbit’s face.

“You named him?”

“Uh-huh.” His voice sounds a bit less sure and his smile is dimming a bit in wattage.

“Did you name all of them?”

The guy rolls his lips in and looks askance, visibly embarrassed.

“No,” he says quickly. “Only...most of them. I’ve got a lot of free time here.”

Dimitri realizes it’s not his place to judge and, besides, the guy is cute for all his dorkiness. Those freckles and that smile.

“I’ll take good care of Carrots,” he says solemnly.

The guy looks at him for a moment, as if he isn’t sure if Dimitri is serious or not. Finally, he laughs.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He isn’t sure why, but it sounds almost like a flirt. It sounds almost like a flirt and Dimitri doesn’t know what to do with that information.

\--

Dimitri returns home that evening feeling a bit better than when he left the house. The rabbit--Carrots, he mentally amends--is tucked under his arm and he had had a slice of pizza that tasted like heat and cardboard to him, but had smelled amazing. He had looked at Sylvain and Felix enjoying their slices, smelling the scalding cheese and warm crust and wished he could taste it like they could.

His stepmother’s car is parked on the driveway and he winces a bit, figuring he’s going to hear about the fries he left on the counter. Dimitri loves his stepmother, really. He was too young to remember his birth mother, who died when he was only a baby. Patricia has always been in his life and she tries to understand him as best she can. There are things they don’t talk about, though, and the list seems to grow and grow over time. Dimitri’s sexuality and his father’s death are the two biggest hot button topics.

Dimitri lets himself in. Standing in the entryway, he can see into the kitchen and the fries are gone. His stepmother is sitting on the couch, watching the evening news with the sound low.

“Throw your food out, Dimitri,” she says without looking up. “Summer’s coming and that means ants.”

“Sure. Sorry.”

She remotes off the TV and cranes her neck so she’s looking at him over the back of the couch.

“Can you help me clean out the guest room?”

That seems out of nowhere but Dimitri nods.

“Of course.” He chews his lip. “Why?”

The guest room is mostly used for storage of Dimitri’s old things and some things of his father’s. His stepmother and him didn’t want to throw them out so his surfboards are in the garage and his trophies are in the living room.

“Your sister is moving in next week.”

It feels weird, hearing Patricia call Edelgard his sister. She is, through marriage, but Dimitri has always felt more like an only child. Edelgard lives on the other coast with her uncle. She lived with them for a little while when they were children. Back then, the six month difference in their ages was a big deal to Edelgard who asserted herself as a big sister. She was more than a bit bossy, always leading Dimitri around and commandeering the record player to play her records over his, but he had also thought that it was fun to have a friend that lived in his house. Edelgard lived near the shore both here and with her uncle, but she couldn’t swim. Once she had almost drowned in the surf and his father had gone in to save her. Dimitri remembers standing on the beach, watching his father lift Edelgard above his head. He doesn’t think he was worried, then, about either of them. Then he had full confidence that his father would get her out to safety. He wouldn’t be kicked in the head and forced down, left to die. Dimitri puts the hand not holding Carrots in his pocket so he can clench his fist without Patricia seeing and misinterpreting it.

“For good?” he asks.

“Yes. She graduated early, you know.” There’s more than a hint of pride in her voice. “So she wanted to...get away.”

Dimitri doesn’t know much, but he knows that Edelgard hates living with her uncle. His uncle, too, technically. He doesn’t have many memories of him, except one notable instance of a multi-family get together where he exclaimed loudly because Felix bit him.

“Okay,” he says. “I don’t have plans tomorrow so we can start then.”

Patricia nods. “Sure. When are you working?”

Dimitri scuffs the toe of one sneaker over the other.

“I, uh, missed the hiring window so. I’m not.”

Her brow crinkles a bit and then she gives a slight smile.

“Alright. Tomorrow, then.”

Dimitri nods and begins to walk towards the hallway to go to his room.

“What’s that rabbit, by the way?” Patricia asks.

He stops and regards the face of Carrots still tucked under one arm.

“Oh. I won him on the boardwalk.”

Looking at Carrots, his mind goes back to the smiling face of the guy on the boardwalk.

\--

Ashe stands near the lip of the stage in the smoky bar, letting the music vibrate through him. Onstage, his brother and his bandmates are giving their all to their set. It’s a mix of covers and original things and Ashe personally thinks that they get better with every show.

Christophe plays the guitar like a riot and his voice sounds like it should be on the radio. But he’s biased. He loves his brother. When Ashe and his younger siblings came to live with his adoptive father eight years ago, Christophe always made them feel welcome. He seemed excited to be a big brother after being an only child for so long.

Sometimes Ashe wonders what his life would have been like if he hadn’t broken into Lonato’s car when he was thirteen. His parents had been dead for three years and after being shuffled between his parents’ well meaning but unprepared hippie friends, he and his siblings, Rahne and Leif, were on the street. Ashe had needed money for his medication--one thing his parents’ friends had been able to provide for him without fail--and he had seen a car idling on the street. It had been unlocked and empty and Ashe had been prepared to steal the stereo or whatever cash was in the glove compartment when he had found the comic books scattered in the back seat. He had had to sell or throw out every one he had had as a kid and the brightly colored adventures of the X-MEN drew him in. Ashe had been so absorbed that he hadn’t even realized the owner of the car had come back. He’d run and collapsed halfway down the block. Lonato had taken him to the hospital and, eventually, was moved by his plight and collected him and his siblings before officially adopting them.

It’s something out of a movie, he thinks, and sometimes he thinks it really is and eventually the credits will roll and he’ll be back in his miserable life, scraping by and hoping he doesn’t die and leave no one to care for Rahne and Leif.

“You good?”

Yuri bumps him with his hip and Ashe realizes that he was spacing out. He turns to his friend and grins.

“Great!” he says back, having to shout to be heard.

Yuri rubs his ear, but there’s a smile on his face. To Ashe, Yuri is the most fantastically cool person on the face of the planet. He’s so stylish and sure of himself. He doesn’t give a shit about what people say about him and how he looks and dresses. He can pull off those flat-brimmed black hats like the one he’s wearing right now and not look like a dope, like Ashe most definitely would. Tonight he’s in an amalgamation of new wave and punk with leather and silks and spikes and glittery eyeshadow.

Onstage, the drummer launches into a solo and Yuri lets out a whoop, lifting both arms above his head. Even that looks cool, Ashe thinks. The drummer sees him and gives a wink. Yuri smirks in return. Ashe isn’t as close to the other members of his brother’s band, but he knows them well enough. Holst and Balthus were childhood friends who got Christophe to join their band as a lead singer since neither of them can sing. Yuri is dating Balthus, who’s the drummer, but he says it isn’t serious. Ashe can’t fathom that. If he’s in a relationship, he’s all the way in. Kisses like fireworks and bells. Just like a book or movie. Sometimes, though, he’ll see Yuri and Balthus look at each other in a way that’s so soft that he knows that they  _ have _ to really be in love.

And who wouldn’t love Yuri?

Ashe thinks he’s a bit in love with him, too. Not in the romantic way, the way Ashe has always wanted to love someone, but in the sense that he kind of wants to  _ be _ Yuri. To not care about people sneering at how he dresses and calling him names.

“Here. I’m getting hot.”

Yuri pops his hat on Ashe’s head. It’s a bit big on him and slips down over his forehead. Ashe pushes it back so it rests on the crown of his head.

“It looks good on you,” Yuri says. “Keep it.”

Ashe thinks he has to be wrong, but he smiles anyway.

“Thanks!”

But really, he thinks maybe, just maybe, the hat will give him some of Yuri’s coolness and confidence.

_ Right. Sure. Keep dreaming. _

But that’s what Ashe does. What he’s always done. He keeps dreaming and hopes that one day he doesn’t just wake up.

\--

Without a job to occupy him, Dimitri finds himself wandering towards the boardwalk aimlessly more often than not. This time, his reason for not wanting to be in the house is to not be underfoot while Edelgard is unpacking. She had come in with her heavy boots and hair smelling of Aquanet and looked up at him, a slight downturn on her lips. When they were children, she had been taller, but now Dimitri towers a foot above her. After so long, he isn’t sure where the two of them stand as step-siblings or even friends so he figures that it’s best that he make himself scarce until she’s settled. It isn’t like he can really help with moving in, anyway. The most he can do is lift heavy furniture, and she isn’t bringing any of that since the guest room already has a bed and dresser set.

Dimitri passes by Rosefield Bakery and pauses for a moment. In the low, wide bay window facing the street several cakes are on display under glass cloches. If he squints against the sun, he’ll be able to see inside, but that means that the people inside can see him. Dedue can see him.

He isn’t quite sure how to describe their relationship. They had dated the entire summer after high school, but that felt so long ago. Dimitri thinks he’s mostly over him, but he still finds it awkward to be around him as friends. They had been close in high school, but now here they were, barely more than acquaintances. It’s Dimitri’s own fault. After the break up, Dedue had gone to college and Dimitri hadn’t. Now he had friends, a life, connections, aspirations. And a new relationship. Maybe, if he did peer in like the pathetic loser he feels like, Dimitri would see Mercedes in the bakery working alongside him.

He resumes walking again, keeping his steps quick to move past the bakery as fast as he can before he gets bogged down even further by nostalgia and thoughts of what could have been. Dimitri crosses the street after a brief pause and hurries past the corner store. Just as he approaches the door to pass it, it opens. Dimitri can’t stop his momentum and plows into the person exiting. He hears a loud gasp accompanied by an icy splash and he turns to see his poor victim wearing a cherry slushie on his t-shirt. The guy stares down at the red stain as it spreads like blood. To Dimitri, it looks a bit like something out of a horror movie. He half expects the poor guy to look up helplessly from his wound up at his killer--Dimitri himself in this case--before slumping lifelessly to the ground.

Or he’s just being dramatic.

“I’m so sorry,” he says hastily. “Really, really--truly, I apologize.”

“It’s fine. It was an accident.”

There’s something vaguely familiar about the guy’s voice and, when he looks up, Dimitri immediately sees why. It’s the same guy from the carnival game. His own eyes widen at that same moment with realization.

“Oh!” he says.

“From the boardwalk,” Dimitri says.

“Right--you won Carrots.”

“Yes, I. I really am sorry. Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head, laughing a bit.

“No, I’m fine. This is just cherry slushie,” he says.

Dimitri chews his lip.

“I can buy a new one.” Before he can stop himself, the next words are out. “And I can wash your shirt.”

His face heats up the moment the statement leaves his mouth. The guy cocks his head to the side quizzically.

“Take my shirt off?”

“Oh! I mean. At...my...house.”

Dimitri is vaguely aware of the fact that he’s simply digging himself in deeper, but he doesn’t know how to stop. The guy stares at him for a while as if trying to suss him out.

“Sure,” he says after a moment.

“Sure?”

He shrugs.

“Well, I don’t really want to walk around with slushie all over me and my place is a bit too far to walk from here.” The guy flashes a sly little smile. “Unless this is your plan to murder me.”

Dimitri holds his hands up and frantically shakes his head.

“No, no. No murdering. My step-mom has a lot of stuff for getting out stains.”

That sly grin stays in place. “Like blood?”

“No!” he says, but he can’t help but allow laughter to creep into his words. “I’m Dimitri.”

“Ashe.”

The name somehow suits him perfectly with his silvery-gray messy head of hair. Dimitri smiles.

“I don’t live far.”

Ashe tosses his empty cup into the trashcan next to the corner store’s door and falls in step with him. Walking the other way means that Dimitri has to walk by the bakery again, but with someone else walking next to him, he doesn’t feel the need to hurry.

The moment they reach the end of the inclined street where the houses on Dimitri’s street are spread out, Ashe lets out a low whistle.

“Oh, you weren’t lying,” he says. “You  _ are _ really close.”

Unsure of what else to do, Dimitri simply nods. He lets them in and calls out to his stepmother. He doesn’t get an answer.

“I’m not sure where she is,” he says. “The laundry room is this way, through the kitchen.”

He leads Ashe through the kitchen where he finds a note balanced against the canister that holds flour.

_ Mitya-- _

He cringes a bit at the affectionate name when Ashe is right near him, possibly reading over his shoulder.

_ El and I went to get lunch! I’ll bring something back for you! _

“My stepmom,” he says by way of explanation. “And stepsister.”

Ashe nods.

“Ah, okay. Got it.”

Dimitri walks into the next room, a small narrow room that can barely fit more than their washer and dryer. He points out where the detergent is and gives a brief overview on how to use the washer. He figures that Ashe doesn’t want him around when he strips his shirt off.

“I’ll go grab you a sweatshirt or something from my room.”

He isn’t sure why he feels so strange having someone in his house. Even if it is someone he spilled slushie all over. Dimitri walks into his room and grabs a sweatshirt from the drawer. If he thinks about it, he really hasn’t been around anyone except Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid since high school. All of their other friends moved away or they were like Dedue, who moved back but had moved on.

He walks back to the laundry room where Ashe is just finishing up setting the timer. Dimitri sneaks a peak at his slender, shirtless torso to see if any of the red dye from the slushie seeped through his shirt to his skin. No other reason, of course.

“Here you go,” he says, a bit too loudly.

Ashe smiles as he takes it. He slips it over his head and Dimitri realizes how comically big it is on him. Ashe isn’t that short--he’s probably around the same height as Felix, he reckons--but that’s still a good half foot shorter than Dimitri. To say nothing of their difference in size. Dimitri’s sweatshirt is a little big on him, too, so it positively envelops Ashe. The sleeves hang down past his arms and the hem lands below the bottoms of his shorts.

“Sorry it’s a bit big,” he says.

Ashe flaps the sleeves a little.

“No, it’s fine.”

“We can sit on the couch to wait,” Dimitri says. “We have cable.”

“Sure.”

Ashe makes his way to the couch, flapping the sleeves as he goes as though he’s a seagull flying on the shore. Dimitri smiles despite himself.

“I can replace the slushie,” he says once they’re both seated.

He picked the remote up to turn on the television. It’s an older model and it takes a bit to turn on. The screen goes from black to a slightly lighter black that Dimitri is used to seeing as the TV comes to life.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Ashe says. “It wasn’t for me.”

At that, Dimitri winces. So he’s waylaid Ashe from meeting up with someone who was the intended recipient for that slushie.

“It was for Leif and Rahne.” Ashe blinks twice and then supplies, “My brother and sister.”

He doesn’t want to admit the relief he felt.

“Oh.”

“Sorry. I haven’t met any new people other than my coworkers so I’m used to people just, uh, knowing them.”

“It’s fine.”

Dimitri definitely understands that. He can’t think of a time where he really hung out with anyone other than Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid since he and Dedue broke up. The television blares MTV loudly and Dimitri quickly turns it down.

“Sorry. I guess my stepsister left it on too loud.”

Ashe waves a sleeved hand.

“It’s fine,” he says.

“I still would like to pay you back.”

“You’re washing my shirt. And, anyway, they don’t need any more sugar.” Ashe chews his lip for a moment and then says, “I can’t have slushies.”

“Can’t?”

Dimitri would have figured that he didn’t want something so artificially red or sweetened but the use of “can’t” confuses him.

“Diabetes,” Ashe says. “I mean, uh, I’m diabetic.”

“Oh! Yes, that makes sense.” Dimitri realizes how dumb he sounds and shuts his mouth. “Right.”

Ashe doesn’t seem offended. In fact, he’s even smiling a bit at him.

While the shirt washes, they occupy themselves with watching MTV. Ashe has a remarkable amount of opinions on different musical artists and Dimitri is impressed. He really doesn’t listen to much music other than what he sees in music videos or hears on the radio. Ashe’s eyes shine with keen interest and Dimitri finds himself fond of the way they light up. They only take a pause to pop the t-shirt in the dryer.

“It’s still got some pink on it,” Dimitri says with a sigh.

“Yeah, but now I’ll look a lot less like I’m one of the Sawyers’ dinner guests,” Ashe says with a laugh.

He must catch his blank stare because Ashe’s laugh turns a bit nervous.

_ “Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” _ he says. “Leatherface’s family.”

“Oh.” Dimitri gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not big on horror movies.”

“Me neither,” Ashe says. “My brother is, though. He’s always getting rentals of the grodiest stuff.”

“Leif?”

Dimitri says it mostly because he wants to show Ashe that he was listening. He isn’t sure why, but he really wants to impress him. Maybe it’s to get over his horrific first (second) impression of spilling slushie all over him.

“My other brother,” he says. “Sorry, I have two. He’s the, uh, older one. His name’s Christophe.”

Eventually, the t-shirt is dried, with only a ghost of a stain left on it. Ashe takes it and folds it neatly. Dimitri is a bit impressed. He’s somewhat hopeless at small, minute tasks like folding laundry.

“Hey,” Ashe says. He clutches the folded shirt to his chest and looks askance. “Do you want to hang out another time? Maybe on the boardwalk?”

Dimitri raises his eyebrows in surprise. Does he? He thinks he does. He likes Ashe. It’s fun getting to know someone new and maybe--hopefully--they can get over the Slushie Incident.

“Sure!” he says and then cringes realizing how excited he sounds.

Trying to recover, Dimitri scribbles his number down on a memo pad back in the kitchen and Ashe promises to call.

“I’ll probably try to play it cool and wait a bit to call,” Ashe says. “But I’ll definitely fail at it. So expect a call soon.”

Dimitri laughs with him.

“I’ll wash this too,” he says, lifting the sleeve of the sweatshirt. “To give it back.”

He nods, and doesn’t say that he doesn’t mind if Ashe keeps it. He’d let him. With another wave, Ashe is gone. Dimitri closes the door and puts his forehead against it. He’s doing it for his own mind, which has started propelling itself forward. He doesn’t want to think too deeply on Ashe wanting to hang out. On him taking Dimitri’s number and promising to call. He isn’t going to get his hopes up that he’s gay. He might be a new friend and nothing more.

Yet, even with his face pressed against the door, Dimitri can’t help but let a goofy grin slip onto his face.

\--

Dimitri is surprised when Ashe calls him almost the next day. Sylvain has talked about the do’s and don’ts about calling someone you like and always mentioned the “three day rule” and all sorts of things that made Dimitri’s head spin trying to remember it all. Then again, that’s when it comes to dating. This is decidedly not a date. It’s simply two people hanging out on the boardwalk together after the sun has gone down and the ocean is nothing but a dark, faded blot to Dimitri’s left. He can hear the waves, he can smell the salt, but he’s away from looking at it. It helps.

The company does as well. Ashe fills him in on the comings and goings of the games staff and Dimitri supplies some of the things he manages to remember from working the rides for so long.

The boardwalk is smeared with neon and the sounds of the carnival echo around them. As usual, Dimitri feels at peace amidst the cacophony.

They turn away from the midway and the music switches from the various tinny, jangled sounds of the games to a staticky “Chains of Love” bleating from the mounted speakers.

“My friend works here,” Dimitri says when they pass the t-shirt shop.

“Is he working now?”

Ashe cranes his neck past Dimitri and peers past him into the store. Dimitri follows his gaze and sees Sylvain leaning against one of the metal racks chatting up a girl still wearing her bathing suit along with a pair of cutoffs.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s say hi.”

Ashe walks forward and Dimitri follows him, a bit impressed with how forthright he is. At first Ashe seemed as sweet and fragile as he looked, but there’s a fire there. One Dimitri really likes.

Sylvain’s eyes light up when he sees them. The girl has walked away, giggling with her group of friends as they exit the store. Dimitri fights the urge to roll his eyes. Typical Sylvain. He can only imagine what he told her that got her giggling so much.

“Hey, Dima,” he says. “Who’s your friend?”

“I’m Ashe.” He grins broadly and sticks his hand out.

Sylvain’s eyebrows raise as if in surprise and he takes Ashe’s hand.

“So form. I’m Sylvain.” He tips his head to the side. “How’d you two meet?”

He’s trying to hide it, but Dimitri knows that he’s surprised to see him in the company of someone new. Usually he’s about his comfortable gird and the people within it.

“I spilled a slushie on him,” he says.

Ashe nods.

“Well, technically he won a toy at the squirt gun game where I work,” he says, “But yeah. The slushie thing.”

“Bitchin’,” Sylvain says. “Hey--Dima. Can you do me a favor?”

“Uh…”

Dimitri is slightly dubious. A favor from Sylvain could be anything. He has memories of high school of awkwardly walking across the cafeteria to deposit an apologetic note onto a girl’s lunch tray.

Sylvain walks away from them and goes behind the counter. He returns with a bag of hot fries.

“Can you give these to Felix?” he asks. “We had a bit of an argument and this is my peace offering.”

Dimitri takes the bag and looks at it for a moment before lifting his head back up to Sylvain.

“Alright.”

“I’d bring it myself, but my manager is already pissed that I left earlier today to grab a slice.”

That was very typical Sylvain.

“Sure,” Ashe says for him. “Where is, uh, Felix, right?”

“The comic shop,” Sylvain says.

He holds his hand out for a high five, which Ashe delivers. Dimitri looks between the two of them and feels good that they seem to have made a good first impression on each other. He knows Sylvain can be a bit much.

“Oh, great,” Ashe says. “I love comics.”

“Tell that to Felix,” Sylvain says. “He might crack a smile.”

\--

The comic shop is only somewhat on the boardwalk. Dimitri has always figured that it’s because the owners don’t want it too close to the damaging salty sea air. Ashe walks with him, keeping up as best he can.

“Have you known them long?” he asks.

Dimitri nods. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know them. Felix’s father went to college with--uh. My dad.”

He tries to sound nonchalant as he says it because he by no means wants to dump his entire pile of issues on Ashe when he just wants to get to know him. He doesn’t know how to talk about it with someone who doesn’t already know. He even kept the finer details of it from Dedue. He never told him that he still sees his father’s body whenever he goes in the ocean.

“Oh, that’s cool, I. Don’t have any friends like that.” There seems to be something Ashe isn’t saying, but Dimitri lets it slide. After all, wasn’t he just thinking about his own? “That I’ve known for that long, I mean.”

He nods, unsure of what else to say. It may just be hanging out with someone new after knowing the same faces for so long, but Dimitri feels strange. Like he’s too big, too awkward. Ashe is slender all over except for his shoulders, which are broad for someone his height. The feeling settles heavily on his shoulders and doesn’t dissipate even after they walk into the comic shop.

Felix is sitting behind the counter, watching a movie on the small, black and white television kept there. There’s a rumor that the owner is going to get into the video rental business and the television is part of it. He looks up at their approach and gives Dimitri a wave. Ashe is already amongst the bins, looking through different comics. His face is lit up in a way that’s, well, downright adorable. Dimitri watches the way his eyes light up when he looks at a particular cover or character.

“Here,” Dimitri says. “Hot fries, courtesy of Sylvain.”

Felix takes the bag from him and makes a  _ tch _ sound through his teeth.

“Ugh, of course,” he says. “He would apologize first.”

“First?”

Usually Sylvain is the one who makes mistakes and later makes up for them.

“Yeah. We had a fight. I should be apologizing to him.” Felix frowns as he says it and shakes his head.

Ashe joins them at the counter, holding a slim stack of comics.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Ashe.”

Felix regards him for a moment as if wondering why Ashe is even saying his name.

“He’s with me,” Dimitri says too quickly and then clears his throat loudly. “I mean. We’re hanging out. He’s my friend.”

“What are you watching?” Ashe asks.

Felix flicks his eyes to the screen and then back to them.

“ _ The Thing. _ ”

At that, Ashe screws up his face. “Oh, that movie was so gross.”

“It is not,” Felix says, eyes flashing in anger. “The performances, the practical effects, the direction, the monster itself--it’s going to go down in history as a fucking masterpiece.”

“Sure,” Ashe says.

Honestly, Dimitri kind of likes how he’s not at all phased by Felix’s attitude so shortly after meeting him.

“Can I get these?” He pushes the comics towards him.

Felix probably wants to say something about the comics he chose to make up for his movie being slighted, but he instead nods approvingly.

“ _ X-MEN _ ,” he says. “My favorite.”

“Mine too,” Ashe says. His eyes are lit up again and Dimitri finds himself wanting to make them light up like that just once. “I, uh, lost a lot of the comics I had as a kid so I’m slowly trying to find them again. My favorite is the  _ New Mutants, _ though.”

Felix nods.

“Yeah, although I stopped for a while after Cypher died,” he says.

“That was so sad--I keep waiting for them to bring him back, but it’s been years!”

Dimitri looks between them, unsure who or what they’re talking about. Felix rings up Ashe’s comics and even offers him a hot fry from the bag once he opened it. Dimitri knows that, in his own way, that he approves of his new friend.

“Hey,” Felix says just as they both step away from the counter. “Here. Get Sylvain something with this. Some fries or something.”

He reaches into his pocket and produces a few crumpled bills. Dimitri accepts them and frowns.

“What were you two even arguing about?”

Felix sighs and says, “I don’t remember but I said ‘at least you still have a brother.’”

_ Ah. _

Dimitri nods in understanding and, with one last wave, he and Ashe leave the store.

\--

It isn’t easy being an errand boy, but Dimitri doesn’t mind it with the knowledge of why Felix and Sylvain were fighting. Glenn’s death feels like yesterday, but saying that about Miklan. Sylvain, luckily, accepted both the fries with malt vinegar and Felix’s apology. He shook his head into it and gave a slight smile. Dimitri can only guess what it means.

It’s getting late, the moon is high and full in the sky. Dimitri knows that it’s out there, reflecting silver light over the surging ocean, but he doesn’t look. Ashe looks at his watch--one of those bulky things with tiny calculator numbers on it. When Dimitri had called attention to it earlier, he said he had gotten it as a gift after not failing his math class his senior year.

“I should head back,” he says.

“You have a curfew?”

“Not technically, but Lonato doesn’t like me out super late.”

It strikes Dimitri as strange that he calls his father by his first name, but he doesn’t press. He thinks it might be his stepfather, like Patricia is to him. Ashe looks at him, the colorful lights of the boardwalk making his light hair seem to be a rainbow of colors. He cocks his head to the side.

“Walk me home?”

Dimitri’s thrown at bit by the offer, but he collects himself and nods. So much about hanging out and talking with Ashe is making him hope, but. He isn’t going to go there and he isn’t going to assume.

They walk past Dimitri’s street and keep going.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” Ashe says. “Meeting your friends and just. Hanging out. We should do it again some time.”

Dimitri tries to hide how excited he is.

“Sure,” he says and nearly cringes at how loud his voice sounds in his attempt to be nonchalant.

Luckily Ashe just laughs.

“Great. I.” He stops at the end of a person’s driveway and leans his elbow on their mailbox. “I don’t have a lot of friends my own age. Just one or two who come during the summer. Everyone else is older, so...ah. I’m glad you spilled slushie all over me.”

Dimitri stops his own steps and chews his lip.

“And adopted that rabbit.”

“Carrots.” Ashe smiles.

“Carrots,” he repeats. “Yeah. I’m glad we met, too.”

He watches as Ashe taps idly at the buttons on his watch, the tinny little beeps filling the empty night air.

“Do you want to go to a show at The Abyss?”

Dimitri knows the place: the bar on the far end of town where local bands play. He’s been once or twice with his friends.

“My brother is playing,” Ashe continues. “So, do you want to go?”

He looks up at him, eyes wide so that the scant light from the lights over the house’s garage illuminate the whites of them. Dimitri nods.

“Sure.”

He wants to say more, but he doesn’t. The words, though, stay lodged in his throat as they resume walking, working through the criss cross streets of the town. Finally, they reach a house where Ashe stops. From what Dimitri can see in the dark, it has two stories and a screened in porch. Two cars sit in the driveway.

“It’s Saturday night,” Ashe says.

The day after tomorrow. Dimitri nods.

“Alright. What time?”

“Depends. I’ll call you when I leave to pick you up.”

The words choking him find their way out without him planning on it.

“It almost sounds like a date.”

Even though they were spoken at a regular volume, the words seem to echo loudly around them. Or, at least, they do in Dimitri’s head. He feels like an utter fool. Things had been going so well with Ashe and now he’s gone and ruined it before their friendship can really begin. He wants to run, dash into the night, and hide in his bed for the remainder of the summer. Dimitri forces out a small laugh to make it sound like a joke.

Ashe, though, he doesn’t look taken aback or repulsed. Instead, his lips quirk up in a slight smile.

“It can be if you want it to be.”

He sounds so sure of himself that Dimitri nearly gawps. Ashe gives a wave in farewell and walks up his lawn to the screen door of his porch. He watches him go, amazed at his response and more than a little attracted to him.

\--

Dimitri doesn’t remember much about his previous trips to Abyss, but he figures that it’s the same as most any club he’s been to. All the local clubs and bars are the same, except for the ones close to the beach that are just for tourists or the goth club that’s almost in the next town over. You have to walk down a narrow flight of stairs to get to Abyss and it’s so small that the smell of smoke weaves into your hair and clothes without effort. Dimitri is already sweating and the inside of his mouth tastes like beer even though he hasn’t had a drink. Usually, he hates places like these. They’re tight and low and hot and he feels much, much too big for them. But he’s happy that he’s here with Ashe.

They’re up near the stage with Ashe’s friend, Yuri, and he’s--incredibly intimidating. He has parts of his purple hair teased and wears his eyeliner like that one singer he’s seen on Edelgard’s albums: Robert Smith. Yuri has a dazzling edge, like a diamond knife, and Dimitri isn’t sure how to react to it.

The way Ashe introduced them, how his eyes shone when he said Yuri’s name, it makes Dimitri wary. In the days since the conversation outside Ashe’s house, he’s more or less come to terms that he has a bit of a crush on him. The way he gave that arch, little smile when he said that this could be a date if he wanted it to be. It makes his heart lurch. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for a relationship or anything with the way he’s been, but. Something pings deep inside him when he sees the way Ashe looks at Yuri. Yuri looks at Dimitri, too, but in a way that’s skeptical and almost suspicious.

Ashe’s brother is onstage. There is no visible family resemblance so Ashe had to point him out. He’s singing and his long, dark brown hair is orange on the ends as if he had bleached it once. It’s matted to his forehead as he coaxes sounds from the guitar and fills the smoky, hot bar with his voice.

_ “The devil appeared like Jesus through the steam in the street. Showed me a hand I knew even the cops couldn’t beat…” _

“This song is incredible,” Dimitri says, speaking loudly so Ashe can hear him over the jolt of guitars and drums, over the sound of the bar. “Did he write it?”

Ashe gives him a funny look as if he’s wondering if Dimitri’s having him on.

“This is a Springsteen song,” he says back.

Sweat rises to his temples. Dimitri knows the name, somewhat. Felix listens to him and has a poster of him in his room among his taped up pages that fell out of his comic books and horror movie posters. In the poster, it’s just his backside clad in tight denim, one hip cocked as he stands in front of the American flag. Dimitri tries not to look directly at it when he’s over, because it always makes heat flood his face.

“Bruce Springsteen,” Ashe clarifies. “Do you not know who he is? How are you from here?”

Despite the taunts and laughter in his voice, it seems more like it’s with Dimitri, not at him.

“Sorry. I live under a rock,” he says and hopes it’s a fine enough recovery.

Ashe grins.

When the show is over and most of the crowd has moved from the bar to the parking lot outside, Dimitri waits with Ashe and Yuri while the band dismantles their equipment. Yuri swings himself up onto the stage, the thunk of his platform boots landing on the wood surface echoes in Dimitri’s head, mitigating the ringing in his ears from the volume of the show.

“Hey, Asher.”

Cristophe comes to ruffle his hair. Ashe unsuccessfully tries to dodge his hand, but ends up getting his hair messed up. He casts an embarrassed look towards Dimitri. He’s looking, but mostly because they almost remind him of Felix and Glenn, before it all. Glenn with any of them, really. He was everyone’s big brother, not just Felix’s. Even Sylvain, who was closest to him in age. He knew how Miklan was and treated him like a real brother ought to.

“Who’s your friend?” Cristophe asks.

Ashe wriggles out from under his hand and gestures to him.

“This is Dimitri. We met on the boardwalk.”

“Hi.” He lifts his hand in a wave.

Cristophe squints at him, one finger hooked under the collar of his sweat-soaked t-shirt, as if he’s sizing him up. Ashe clears his throat and gestures to the other two members of the band.

“And this is Holst and Balthus.”

Balthus is even bigger up close when he isn’t crouched behind his drums. He’s much bigger and taller than Dimitri is--he thinks he might even be as tall as Dedue. Everything about him seems big: his muscles, his big, teased mullet, his thick brows and full lips. Holst isn’t as lean as Cristophe--and certainly not slim like Yuri--but he looks much smaller next to Balthus. He’s a good foot shorter than him, too, and his hair is feathered back and tied with a bandana like Rambo.

Yuri scuttles up to Balthus, who wraps two massively beefy arms around him before pulling him in for a kiss. Dimitri looks around, almost frantic, to see if someone saw, but if anyone other than the band witnessed it, they say nothing. He smiles, relaxing a bit. Yuri is clearly with this guy, too, so it settles something in Dimitri’s chest about how Ashe looks at him.

Holst, though, bristles. Dimitri chews his lip at the sight of him. He thought, with Yuri and the drummer Ashe called Balthus kissing, the band was cool, but Holst’s reaction is something else.

“Don’t worry,” Cristophe says. “Holst is just jealous ‘cause Balthus dumped him.”

Holst whips around, his jaw slack.

“He didn’t dump me! I dumped him!”

Balthus stops kissing Yuri and wipes some of Yuri’s shiny orange lipstick from his mouth.

“Not how I remember it.”

He and Cristophe laugh and Yuri smirks before pressing his face into Balthus’s chest. He pulls back a moment later and looks somewhat alarmed, but Dimitri figures that it has to do with how sweaty he is.

Dimitri looks at Ashe, who smiles back at him.

\--

Ashe drives him home after the show. The night is still and, with the windows down, Dimitri can smell the salt of the ocean, almost taste it on his tongue. He wants to let those sensations rest on the good times. How he feels on the boardwalk, still. Car rides like this, driving in Sylvain’s car and listening to the radio at top volume.

His car has a cassette player that’s playing Pet Shop Boys, turned down low. On the drive over, Ashe had been listening to  Mötley Crüe, which had been surprising to Dimitri. Ashe doesn’t seem like the type. When they got back in after the show, the loud guitars had made them both wince so Ashe switched it out.

“I had a lot of fun,” Dimitri says. “Your brother seems nice.”

His voice is hoarse from yelling to be heard and his ears are ringing, but he doesn’t mind it. He’s happier, though, to be in the car with Ashe and away from both the crowds and Yuri’s questioning eyes.

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m glad we bumped into each other,” Ashe says. “Even though my shirt is still a little stained.”

He gives that sly little smile again, glancing at him from the corner of his eye while he’s driving, and Dimitri’s heart skips a beat.

“Well, you haven’t given me back my sweatshirt yet, so we’re even,” he says.

“I’m holding it hostage,” he admits. “Until I win you over.”

“Oh?”

Dimitri smiles, playing along with him.

“Yep.”

“Then it’s a good thing you already have, because it still gets a little chilly at night.”

Ashe lets out a breathy laugh. He stops at a red light. They’re the only car on the road at this hour and the light washes over them, dousing them both in scarlet.

“I’m also glad...that you’re...like me. I like hanging out a lot and.” Ashe breathes in. The light changes and he presses gently on the gas to get it to go forward.

Dimitri swallows against his hoarse throat.

“How can you tell?”

“Optimism,” Ashe says simply. “And, I dunno, I just can.”

It hits him that Ashe was taking an enormous risk in asking him to the concert, to saying what he did. Phrasing it as a date. His bravery bolsters him, makes him feel good and reminds him of a time where he was out and could tell people about how he was with Dedue. Before Glenn and the mere mention of it making everyone be quiet, never speaking of it lest the grief seep back in. The reminders.

Ashe pulls up to Dimitri’s house. It’s dark except for the porch light that his stepmother left on for him. He watches Ashe put the car in park.

“I had a really good time,” he says.

Dimitri nods.

“Me, too.”

“Even if you don’t know who Springsteen is.”

That sly smile is back and Dimitri is seized with a desire to kiss it away. He refrains, but gives a slight one back. He begins to climb out of the car.

“Wait.”

Ashe’s hand is on the knit sleeve of his sweater. Dimitri turns towards him, about to ask him if he forgot something. Ashe leans in and kisses him on the cheek. When he pulls back, he’s smiling. Dimitri smiles back.

He waves goodbye before closing the door and makes his way up his darkened lawn. Ashe doesn’t drive away just yet. Dimitri sees him fumbling with something in the dark. When he pulls away, the loud cry of  _ “SMOKIN’ IN THE BOY’S ROOM!”  _ echoes on his empty street as he apparently has switched the cassette back. Dimitri smiles. He turns and walks towards the door, surprised to find that he has a bit of a skip to his step.


End file.
